


Different POV, different ending

by Avrina



Series: Tales from the Eastern Kingdoms [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Affairs, Bitterness, Children, Crush, Dancing, Daydreaming, F/M, Family, Family Loss, First Kiss, First Love, Friendship, Knights - Freeform, Lovers, M/M, Parenthood, Princes & Princesses, Rumors, Siblings, kept promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22877728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avrina/pseuds/Avrina
Summary: ... and they lived happily ever after.All of them?Everywhere?Is that even possible?
Series: Tales from the Eastern Kingdoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630612
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Romy & Ruben

The air in the crypt was damp and cold and freezing, Romy pulled her shoulders up as she walked down the rows of tomb slabs. One turn, another, and then she paused. At her feet were the latest tomb slabs, shimmering in the light of the witch's light. On the large one by one meter slab was simply written _Ruby Blackwood, Queen_. On the left side were three smaller plaques, perhaps the size of two palms.   
_Theresa._  
 _Lyandra._  
 _Antonidas, Prince Consort._   
On the right were two plaques.   
_Jocelyn & Erik. _  
_Elisabeth._   
It hurt to read the names, but the Great Mother gives and takes and it was not up to Romy to judge her doings. She had liked Erik and therefore added his name, even though his body had not been found anywhere. Henry, on the other hand, had been given a simple grave without any markings anywhere outside the castle- Sam and Owen had dealt with it grimly- and she would never have dreamed of setting a monument to this brother-in-law here. She shivered and was glad that Ruben's name was not to be found here. The anger over their separation burned with the joy of having found him. 

When steps sounded, she flinched, but it was Ruben who came towards her armed with a lantern. He gave her a cautious smile, which she returned just as carefully. When he had broken, his mind had been reset to the state where his power had awakened, but strangely enough, he had retained all his memories. There was something almost disturbing about seeing a grown man fighting in the style of the witchers’, only to find oneself talking to a boy of perhaps eleven or twelve years afterwards. 

"You shouldn't go down here alone," he said.   
"There's nothing down here but rocks, ashes and dust," she returned.   
"And sorrow."   
She looked up to him.   
"Your heart still hurts."   
"That's right, but I wanted to see them anyway."   
"You could have asked me to come with you." There was a slight accusation in his voice and she nodded.   
"I'm sorry. I... I didn't think about it. You didn't know them."   
"So what? I know you and that's enough. When you're sad, you need a hug." It was conversations like this one - where she always had the feeling that he was only saying half of what he actually wanted to say - that threw her off track. But he gently stretched out his arms, and she hugged him. It was a strange feeling, too. Ruben was almost a head taller than her, which gave her a feeling of security, but when she took a deep breath at his chest, there was only the faint smell of vanilla and nothing else.

"Aunt Alice wants to go home," he said uncertainly after a while.   
"Do you want to go with her?"   
"Is that even a question?"   
She raised her head. "Of course. You can go back in the swamp with her, or stay here, whichever you like."   
Suddenly Ruben seemed overwhelmed with the fact that he should decide for himself - Alice rarely gave him a choice.   
"I mean," Romy then gently added, "you can come and go as you please, any time you want. We can pick out rooms for you that connect to the gardens."   
He nodded. "I want to stay and protect you."   
"You don't have to protect me."   
"Of course I do. I'm a witcher and the only brother you have." With the defiance in his voice she suppressed a smile and nodded.   
"Then let's go back upstairs." She would not discuss this point with Ruben any further - she had already tried it and confused him. He only partly understood that she had grown so fond of Ginevra and Gordon and Gavin that she considered them family with all her heart. Nor did she tell him that Sam looked at him with the same pride he had for Gordon. She didn't tell him that he scared her when he drew his sword. She didn't tell him she could feel the death in his body- broken witches don't grow old. Instead, as the sun's rays brushed over their heads, she said:   
"I love you, Ruben."   
"I love you too, Romy."


	2. Gordon

The ringing of the bell tore Gordon from his almost meditative training with Commander Howard, during which they went through the same movements over and over again. He had forgotten the time and furthermore, where he should be now. Weighing the training sword in his hand he thought feverishly until an almost fatherly smile crept onto Howard's face.   
"Dancing lessons."   
"Oh damn, right!" Gordon threw the training sword into a box with the other blunt training weapons and then ran through the castle.

As a person Master Theo was quite tolerable, but as a dance teacher he was a sadistic asshole and a little too convinced of himself. Gordon didn't like him very much, but he was not alone with this.   
"Punctuality means being on time. Not too early. Not too late. It means right on time. A virtue," Theo uttered in an instructive tone, as Gordon entered the sparsely lit practice room.   
"I beg your pardon, Master Theo." Lack of air interrupted Gordon's apology.   
"Don't apologize to me, but to you and the student who comes after you. I, for my part, will be paid whether I wait or not." He flicked into a corner where a lonely violinist was sitting.

Although Gordon had only been taking dancing lessons for half a year, he was already sick and tired of courtly dances. He had practiced with Ginevra for a change and with Romy- Great Mother, it was embarrassing to dance with a woman who was so much taller- but at the celebrations for the King's Day it would show if it was worth it. He wanted to show Margareth that he was more than just the blunt knight she had teased him for. He was a prince, damn it!

"Smile, Gordon, smile," Theo purred to the beat. Fortunately, the final pose followed immediately and Gordon sighed.   
"Perhaps you should think about higher heels, there is still time for that," Theo said then and Gordon blinked.   
"Heels? Like... pumps?"   
"No, more like the buckled shoes of yesteryear. To fake you a little bigger."   
Gordon prayed fervently that he would grow a little more in the next few years, because _heels_ were the last thing he wanted to make a fool of himself with. The other knights would talk about nothing else for years. Better small than wearing ladies' shoes.

"Ah, milady."   
Gordon spun around and almost tripped over his own feet. Margareth stood in the doorway, with red cheeks and in a plain daydress.   
"Master Theo, I'm not late, am I?"   
"No, no, just right. Prince Gordon was a little late, but that's to our advantage now. A waltz, please!" The last words were addressed to the violinist and Gordon turned pale. Theo had initially refused to teach a waltz at all. The dance had swooped from Dolovai over the mountains to Sunplains and, like many things that came from there, was too casual for the formal Whitehill. People danced close, very close, to each other, and Gordon didn't feel comfortable with it. Margareth hesitantly approached him and he bit his lip. He was completely sweaty from sword training before and probably stank like a dog and he was tired.

"Posture, if you please!"   
Hesitantly, Gordon took Margareth's hand and put the other one on her back, she stretched, just as Theo did when he danced the female part.   
"Hand a little higher, fingers together, elbows out, neck straight... hips closer together... My goodness, there's at least five layers of fabric between you!"   
Both Gordon and Margareth blushed and then almost jerked apart when Theo stuck a book in between. Again he corrected their posture and then waved to the violinist. Gordon was so taken by surprise that he only found the beat when Theo sighed and started to count.

Gordon's muscle memory was well drilled and he had no great difficulty in dancing, apart from holding a rather pretty girl in his arms, which made him extremely nervous.   
"You smell like apples," Margareth whispered after a turn.   
"Sorry." Gordon whispered back.   
"It's the old blood, isn't it?"   
Only now did he really understand what she had said. "Oh. Yes, old blood..."   
"I'd like to smell of cherries, I like them..."   
Cherries? Gordon blinked dumb. Cherrywood, right. He thought about the things the other knights had told him, what Sam had explained to him. She'd started the subject. Although Theo wouldn't be able to hear it anyway, he bowed his head a little in her direction and whispered with burning cheeks:   
"Maybe you taste of it."   
At least her cheeks turned pink like cherry juice. "Do you taste like apples?"   
The answer was _yes_ if he considered Sam's letter from a few days ago, but he would certainly not mention his brother now. "I don't know," he said instead, his stomach fluttering so much that he couldn't even manage his usual cheeky grin. She looked at him, or rather his mouth, and it dried up.

Strangely enough, he suddenly had to think of a fairy tale where the prince and princess are dancing at a ball and the long-awaited kiss is interrupted at the last moment because the prince is hit by a curse and turns into a wolf.

He blinked. The book between them pressed uncomfortably at his thigh with every move, but nevertheless he instinctively pulled her a little closer. They moved so infinitely slowly towards each other that it almost hurt Gordon's neck, but just at that moment, when their lips brushed one another and a fiery tingling sensation ran up to Gordon's shoulders, Theo cleared his throat meaningfully and while the violinist paused, he began to comment on the dance.   
Gordon didn't hear him. The shy smile on Margareth's face was more important. And he certainly would not wait until the King's Day celebration to get his kiss.


	3. Isaac

_"I mixed a slightly lighter cream. Now that you're back in training, it should feel better." Romy pointed to a cream jar and Isaac nodded. "Is it still buzzing?"_   
_He nodded again and she frowned._   
_"Let me see."_   
_Obediently he dropped his trousers and she bent over, stroked the scars and sighed. "Does it hurt?"_   
_"It stings and itches as soon as the cream is absorbed. But I can't put cream on it every hour."_   
_"No. You must rub it in properly. And I don't mean just a whiff, but a good portion." She stood up and took a small bowl from the worktable, which apparently contained the rest of the cream. She wiped out a blob of cream with two fingers and knelt down in front of him before gently massaging the inside of his thighs with smooth movements, quickly moving upwards._   
_"I... I can do it myself...", he noticed cautiously, but she made a negative noise and turned to the scar tissue around his balls. His body became hot, although his blood was gathering in the middle of his body. Gently her fingers brushed across the fine scars on the underside of his penis, which were particularly painful now that he was hard..._

"Isaac... hey..." He got a nudge against his shoulder and he blinked irritated. Next to him Owen climbed into the water and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I don't think the other knights will find it very amusing if you jerk off right here in the water. Although I'm glad it doesn't seem to hurt anymore."   
Isaac blushed intensely and immediately took his hand from his crotch. "I'm sorry," he muttered.   
"Does it still hurt?" Owen asked and reached for a sponge, his hair stuck full of sweat to his head.   
Isaac shrugged half-heartedly.   
"And that means?"   
But Isaac waited with his answer until the other two knights who had sat in the bath with him got out of the water and left. "With enough cream, it works. It hurts afterwards."   
Owen nodded thoughtfully and Isaac reached for a sponge as well.

They didn't talk for a while, then Owen said:   
"Have you decided?"   
Isaac gave him a quick glance and nodded.   
"Good. Have you told her yet?"   
"No. I didn't want to... you know. Right after training, all sweaty..."   
Again Owen nodded thoughtfully but this time it was accompanied by a fine smile that made Isaac blush.   
"I mean... I can't... I mean, you've got to appear properly before the queen..."   
Owen now grinned broadly. "You can't screw up with Romy. She likes you too much."   
"She... likes me?" He received a nudge against the shoulder.   
"Like Ruben, I guess."   
Isaac managed to swallow his surprised _oh_. Instead he asked quietly: "Do you think Sam will be mad at me?"   
Owen snorted. "Because you want to earn a knighthood you can remember properly? Bullshit. Because he suddenly doesn't have a squire around anymore? As king, he has the whole country under his command. Because you can't pine for his wife anymore?"   
Isaac gave Owen a punch with hot cheeks, who then grinned broadly again. But the grin quickly faded.   
"Do you know how many times Sam regretted going to Darkmoore? Because of you?"   
"But... I mean... he's happy now. He found a bride and..." Isaac closed his mouth at Owen's pitying look.   
"You were heavily drugged and almost died several times. You almost lost yourself." Owen shook his head and Isaac sank a little uncomfortably deeper into the water. "If it was really just that, he could have found a bride on any street corner."   
"But I'm just a squire."   
"You're definitely more than that, Isaac, don't belittle yourself. Besides, you're basically not a squire anymore."   
Isaac sighed softly. "I'm still scared that Sam and Romy... well, maybe not be mad, but disappointed," he muttered.   
"Bullshit," Owen repeated emphatically and then added: "You should tell them first, though."   
Isaac nodded thoughtfully.

"Hey, Isaac. What's up?" Romy looked up from her documents as Isaac hesitantly entered.   
"I... I wanted..." The candlelight made her hair shimmer golden.   
"Is the cream over?"   
"No. No, I mean... I wanted..."   
"Everything all right?" She frowned and he lowered his eyes with a nod. Slowly he took a deep breath.   
"Your Majesty, I hereby wish to inform you that I am returning to my homeland and-"   
"Not so formal, Isaac." she interrupted him and her frown deepened.   
"Excuse me." he murmured softly and stared at the floor. His memories of last year were blurred but the tingling in his stomach was real when he looked at Romy. There was probably nothing special about pining for a queen - in the fairy tales, every young man seemed to have a crush on the princess or queen - but being treated as a friend by the said queen and having his wounds cared for, even though he was only a commoner, did not fit in with what he had been taught.

Cool fingers laid against his chin and he raised his eyes. Romy looked at him critically.   
"Is everything all right?"   
"Yes," he whispered.   
"Really?" She let him go and he nodded.   
"I've made up my mind. I want to go back to Feather Springs and take my knighthood exams there." His voice trembled a little.   
"Good. I don't think it would have done you any good to stay here. And I really don't want to put a ring on you," she said and a fine smile curled her lips. Isaac would have loved to touch those lips and kiss them. "Tomorrow at sunrise a courier to Feather Springs will leave the castle. If you tell him immediately, you can join him."   
He nodded silently and admired the sparkle in her eyes from this short distance.   
"Would you like to be dismissed from my service?"   
He looked at her with irritation. "What do you mean?"   
"As knight of a witch."   
"Oh. No, no, that's not necessary."   
She nodded and then she surprised him by hugging him. "Have a safe journey and good luck on your exams." Carefully he returned the embrace and the scent of vanilla tickled his nose.   
"Thank you," he said softly. A part of him referred more to the warm embrace than the words. She let go and kissed him on the cheek.   
"Take care, Isaac."   
For some reason he saluted quickly before taking the three prescribed steps backwards and turning around.   
"Silly little knight," she muttered with an audible smile. The affection in her voice and the knowledge that she usually called Sam like that made Isaac's heart first swell and then break.   
He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to return to Darkmoore.


	4. Gerald

Gerald stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him; from the guest apartment opposite came Sylvia's complaints. For days- weeks! - she had been complaining and after almost two and a half weeks locked up with her in a travel carriage he suddenly appreciated the separate bedrooms again.

He nodded at the servant who was to lead him through the confusing castle and followed him.   
It was strange to be here again. As a young man he had already walked through these corridors before and had tried to find his way around the architectural monster.   
He had come here against his better judgment to court the younger Darkmoore princess for economic reasons. He had wanted to stay because said princess with the wild black curls and the cheeky grin had turned his head. He had left to marry a feisty blonde princess to save his country from war.   
Sometimes, he thought, he'd have preferred to go to war...  
  


Gerald entered the queen's private dining room and paused. The room did not seem quite as gloomy and intimidating as he remembered, but admittedly, his memories were almost thirty years old. What irritated him more was Sam, who seemed extremely nervous, nibbling on his shirt sleeve.   
"Dad!" He was rushing towards Gerald. "Dad, you've got to help me, I'm going mad!"   
Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"   
"Romy drives me crazy." Sam was looking for words. "No matter what I say or do, it's always wrong. If I apologize, it's not right either. Last night she threw me out and later she was standing by my bed crying. It's been three weeks now and I just don't know what to do." Despite the desperation sneaking into Sam's face, Gerald could not help smiling.   
"She's a woman, son."   
"But she's never been like that before!"

When they had arrived a few hours earlier, the young sovereign couple had been in a meeting and Gerald had somehow imagined Sam's welcome to be different. But the men's conversation was interrupted when Sylvia entered behind Gerald and through a door on Sam's side slipped Romy.   
"Mum..."   
"Gerald."   
"Sam."   
"Your Majesty."   
While Sylvia hurried around the big table to greet her son, Gerald gave a warm smile to the pale and tired looking Romy over the said table, which was reciprocated with the same warmth.   
"I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable."   
"After so many days, it makes no difference in what carriage you travel in," Gerald said quickly before Sylvia could say anything; her forehead was already showing signs of displeasure. "But to tell you the truth, I would have preferred to ride, but unfortunately for a king, it's not very elegant."   
Romy smiled weakly and Sam tormented. He had already in his letters not seemed overly happy about his new title.

But servants appeared and brought the soup, they sat down at the much too big table and Sylvia asked:   
"Are there really only the four of us?"   
"My brother is very shy," Romy explained seriously. "He'd rather meet you in a more free situation."   
"Freer in the sense of casual? What's more casual than dinner with the family?"   
"A walk in the garden, for example," Sam said between two spoons.   
"Ah..." Sylvia didn't seem as if she could sympathize, but said nothing more about it.

The dinner was dominated by Sam and Sylvia talking about government business. Gerald listened attentively to his son and successor and felt a certain pride. Sam might not have been overjoyed as a representative king, but he took the matter seriously.   
"...but the ladies must agree," he explained just as a servant approached Gerald and poured wine for him. He had already finished the course, while Romy was still poking around in her vegetables and picking the bread for the pre-soup.   
"But it takes awfully long, Sam. There's not that much time in crisis situations", Sylvia objected critically and sipped the wine.   
"I wasn't talking about crisis situations." Sam rolled his eyes and took another bit of the roast duck. "Dear, at least eat your vegetables. You've already skipped lunch," he then turned to Romy, who looked at her plate almost tortured. Sylvia scrutinized Romy closely and then Romy jumped out of her chair and rushed out, one hand pressed on her mouth. Gerald got a meaningful look from Sylvia, then she followed her daughter-in-law out while Sam looked surprised and insecure from the door to Gerald.

Gerald leaned back and took a sip of wine; when he put the glass down, a smile played around his lips. It seemed to confuse Sam even more.   
"Dad...?"   
"Congratulations, Sam."   
"What for?"   
"Well, four times experience makes me think you're about to become a father."   
Sam blinked, mouth half open. "What...?" His gaze wandered to the door. "But..."   
Gerald's silent smile widened.   
"But why didn't she say anything?"   
"Don't you always say that talking isn't her strong point? Maybe she did tell you, just not with words."   
For a very long moment it was silent.   
"Oh, Great Mother! I'm such an idiot!" Sam buried the face in his hands. "She put a statuette on my desk, a little blackwood tree with a green apple on a branch."   
"Yes," Gerald said and took- not holding back an amused chuckle - again the wine glass, "you're an idiot."

Warmth filled his chest, knowing that Sam would do better than he did. Warmth which came from all the feelings he had for Sam, Romy and this new life.   
He watched silently and full of affection as Sam digested the information, as all sorts of emotions flitted across his face, paused in stunned joy and then finally stopped in sorrow.   
"Maybe I should go check on those two," he murmured and stood up. "I don't want Romy to kill Mum... "   
"I don't think it would be the worst thing in the world..." Gerald muttered back and raised an eyebrow. Sam paused and began to giggle. And then a laugh burst out of him, which made Gerald smile again.   
"Well, unlike you, I'd like to keep her, though. I certainly care for my mother," Sam said finally and left the dining room, still giggling.   
Gerald watched him leave. Sam might be twenty-six years old already, but he was his son forever.   
And the laughter of his own children was for him the most beautiful sound in the world.


	5. Owen

Owen was almost thankful for the freezing rain, because it meant he had a good reason to wear his full armor when they entered Seven Hills, the capital of Threehills. On the other hand, after hours of riding, said rain had found its way under his armor and he froze. However, he doubted that snow would have been better (although he had actually expected snow, apparently winter came late this year).

The great portal of the small stocky castle on the highest of the city's seven hills had been covered with a canopy; stitched together leather, covered with cloth for appearance, protected King George, Queen Belinda and Crown Prince Gavin, as well as a handful of guards and servants, from the rain. When the carriage, in which Sam and Romy were being swayed through, stopped close to the few steps, the canopy was rolled out and extended over the carriage. Owen, who was riding behind it, was still standing in the rain.  
He watched silently and almost motionless as Sam got out, helped Romy out, and the nordic-short greeting following. He was pleased to see that Gavin's smile was still the same, though the warmth in it was for brother- and sister-in-law, but he suppressed any greater emotion.

When Sam turned around and nodded in the direction of the carriage, Owen swung out of the saddle. Together with Alvin, he followed his queen into the gloomy castle, whose small entrance hall was only slightly warmer than the courtyard. His black and purple cloak dripped and he caught an almost pitiful glance from one of the Kingsguards.

"I've already had your rooms heated," George said to Romy with a nod. "Please, get warm until dinner. The servants are instructed to fulfill your every wish." It didn't take a genius to see that he was squinting at Romy's still flat belly.  
"Thank you. I think a warm bath is just what I need now," Romy replied politely and nodded back. Owen agreed inwardly, but his duty was not yet done.

~

"Prince Gavin is resting," said one of the prince's guards at Gavin's door.  
"I have an urgent and also private message from King Samson to Prince Gavin," Owen said stiffly, holding the seal on the letter under the guards' noses with armored gloves.  
Despite the helmet, the guard's frown was visible.  
"This is the new crest of the Blackwood-Appleberry family," Owen explained, somewhat condescendingly. Sam would have pointed out to him now, with an angry undertone, that the couple's name was _Appleberry-Blackwood_ , but Owen thought that Romy's version sounded better.

The guard sniffed sullenly and then slowly slammed his armored hand against the door three times.  
"Come in," it promptly sounded. The door was opened and Owen took three steps before bowing in the rigid armor. The door closed behind him.  
Gavin frowned. "What is it?"  
"A message from King Samson," Owen said, hoping the helmet would distort his voice enough. Gavin's frown deepened, but he took the message and broke the seal. Owen wasn't quite sure how exactly Sam had put it, but Gavin's frown gave way to amazement as he read the message about the gifted knight, and then stared at Owen.  
In the background, probably in the next room, a baby, probably Prince Garett, started crying.

"Take off your helmet," Gavin finally said softly. Owen responded promptly and Gavin's eyes grew big. "Owen..." he whispered.  
Owen smiled sheepishly.  
"Oh Merciful Lady Winter!" Gavin dropped the note. "Owen!" He threw himself into Owen's arms and kissed him so fiercely that their teeth clacked. But after a moment, Owen gently pushed the prince away.  
"I was afraid you'd forgotten me over wife and son... but apparently not." He grinned crookedly.  
"How could I forget you?" Gavin snorted, shook his head and paused after another kiss. "How exactly is this meant you're a gift?"  
Owen puffed up a little. "I am now Sir Owen of Darkmoore, Honor Guard for the Blackwood family. If you allow me - if your father allows me - I will stay and watch over you and your family as a symbol of friendship."  
Gavin snorted again. "I won't let you go a second time."  
"Good. Because I'd like to stay." They grinned at each other.  
"Now take off that confounded armor, I want to kiss you properly," Gavin then said. Grinning, Owen pulled the gloves off his fingers.  
"I'm at Your Highness' service for more than just a kiss."  
The hungry sparkle in Gavin's eyes was answer enough.

~

"So that's him."  
With the quiet female voice, Owen sat up jerkily amidst the rumpled blankets. The young woman with the hazel hair could only be Ginevra. They stared at each other silently as Gavin emerged embarrassed from Owen's lap. After meeting Gerald and Sylvia, Owen was indeed surprised by Ginevra's beauty, although the traces of the pregnancy were still visible.  
Remembering his manners, he slipped out of bed and bowed deeply.  
"Sir Owen of Darkmoore, Your Highness." He was hard, sweaty and covered with hickeys, which Ginevra examined with calm composure. Probably _too_ calm, because Gavin blurted out:  
"Please, don't persuade father to send him away again."  
"Your father is not so foolish as to reject the gift of a befriended nation." She shook her head weakly and then a sad smile appeared around her lips which reminded Owen of Franz and cut deep into his heart. "Keep him. At least then one of us will be happy."  
And before either of the two men could say anything, she walked out.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Gavin said softly.  
"I had imagined the first meeting with your wife differently," Owen muttered uneasily, and actually had the feeling that Franz was standing next to him, giving him a very similar sad smile. He never wanted to see that kind of smile again.  
If he was allowed to stand by Gavin's side, Ginevra's smile would eventually break him, and so he swore inwardly- while Gavin anxiously wrapped his arms around him- that he would do everything he could to make this smile disappear from her face.


	6. Sarah-Jane

Winter came early this year. Early and severe enough to provide a welcome excuse not to visit Ginevra. Incidentally, Trent's father, Lord Sapphire, was dying, but so had been every winter since Sarah-Jane knew him, so it didn't count for her. The envy burning within her counted all the more.

Four years. Four years and the cradle, which stood admonishingly in a corner of the bedroom, was still empty. The doctors and healers Trent had called claimed that everything was fine, they just had to wait, but how much longer? How long was she to wait and be hopeful when children were being born all around her and her very own lordship needed an heir? She didn't know.

She stared into the fire while the snowflakes were whirling around outside. When the door opened, she looked up. Trent- tall and slender and with dark hair- came in and pressed his lips together.   
"Father's dying."   
"He does every winter," muttered Sarah-Jane.   
"For real this time, I think." Trent's dark eyes pierced into hers, then he turned away and stepped to the shrine of Lady Winter. "He won't eat."   
She remained silent and watched as he lit the candles of the shrine and knelt down.   
"We pray," he said silently. Now it was she who briefly pressed the lips together as she left her comfortable armchair and knelt down next to him on the worn wooden floorboards.

"Lady Winter, cruel and beautiful, this year you grace us early with your icy splendor..." Sarah-Jane blanked out Trent. She didn't pray to this ruthless embodiment of the Great Mother, whom the people here in the north revered fearfully. If she was honest, she found the good-natured aspect of the Great Mother Earth much more appealing, even if it was more associated with witches.

She shuddered. Witches. Her brother had married a witch and according to all she knew and had heard from her mother in her letters, his first child would also be a witch. Why did he do this to himself and to Whitehill? Was she really such a beautiful woman or had she used her magic to cast a spell to attract a very special prince? It was said that she murdered her sisters to get the throne. It was rumored that Sam had been seduced by the prospect of being king of two kingdoms. It was said that he even helped his witch wife and killed his in-laws.

Her fingernails bored into the palm of her hand and she forced herself to put aside all the rumors. She had always hoped that one day she would marry a man like her brother- strong and proud and smart and sensitive. Trent was strong and proud and somewhat smart, but like everything up here in the north, quite cold too. To him, their childlessness was because of her.

She took a few deep breaths in and out. Trent's muttered words rushed past her and bore into her heart. How could he believe that a goddess as cold as Lady Winter would give someone a child? She would never really understand it and prayed silently for herself until something came to her mind among all the rumors.   
Sylvia had written about Romy being a healer witch. A true, magically gifted healer. A woman who was part of the family and not just wanted money. Someone who had every reason to be honest.

Trent finished his prayer and rose, but Sarah-Jane stayed on her knees and pretended she was still in prayer; piety was highly valued in Rockvalley.   
Could she trust Romy? What would she do if she knew the bitter truth? What would _Trent_ do?

She pressed her folded hands to her lips and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.   
Certainty, that's what they needed. An honest answer from a magical healer.   
Deep she sucked in the dry air, slowly expelling it. In the background, Trent was rustling quietly with papers.   
She looked up into the face of Lady Winter's painting and shuddered. Pride made people cold and even if she was a proud woman, she would swallow her pride and ask Romy for help.   
Without something to warm her heart, she would otherwise perish up here in the north.


End file.
